"Non, non, impossible; eet cannot be shown. 'T is not of ze record. Ze Capitaine not 'fraid any more; he just play wiz you like ze cat wiz ze mouse. He know Philip dead; he has ze proof, an' now he breaks ze will, an' gets ze monies. Ze damn dog rich now; zen he be more rich."
"Do you know an executor of the will named Neale—P. B. Neale?"
"Oui, M'sieur."
"Who is he? What does he look like?"
"He vas a planter two mile west Carrollton. I see heem maybe ten days ago—leetle short man wif bald head."
He poured out another drink of brandy, and, downing it, pushed back his chair.
"By Gar, I talk too mooch, maybe," he said, yawning. "But eet make no dif. Ze Capitaine he cop ze monies just ze same, an' eet better you know. Now I turn in an' sleep."
He crossed the cabin to his stateroom, and closed the door.